


Cassandra

by Mice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort fic, Coronavirus, Established Mystrade, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, everyone knows her name isn't really anthea, there are idiots everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is the best intelligence analyst Britain has. His influence and his ability to understand what the smallest things mean in relation to each other and produce useful projections in real world terms is unrivalled. But what use is influence when no one wants to accept your analysis or follow your advice?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 42
Kudos: 152





	Cassandra

**Author's Note:**

> Minor bits of beta poking by Mottlemoth, Dancezwithwolvez, and Hippocrates460. Thank you all for your thoughts, encouragement, and support!

December 2019

Mycroft sighed, tea in hand, as he went over the evening's reports. His day usually closed with a review of global incidents that could potentially affect national security. Most of those who knew his work in any depth were aware that he tracked terrorist incidents, trafficking, and geopolitical maneuvering, but he'd also cultivated contacts in epidemiology after seeing the pandemic potential of Zika, Ebola, and others over the past several years. 

When Zika migrated to the Americas in 2015, Mycroft had purchased a small island in the Hebrides, uninhabited but with fresh water sources, and had created and staffed a small facility doing medical research with an eye to potential pandemics. He'd hired experts and paid them well. They had sequenced genes and developed vaccines with his funding. The epidemiologists he spoke to and who sourced his weekly reports had been deeply concerned that, with climate change and deforestation, such diseases were becoming more and more likely to strike.

Mycroft was nothing if not a cautious man. Never an alarmist, he nonetheless could see and understand patterns and probabilities. The reports for mid-November through the first week of December noted cases of pneumonia in China with an unknown etiology, and it sparked his concern. Pneumonia itself was nothing particularly interesting, but the unknown etiology caught his attention and worried him. He'd tried speaking to the rest of the intelligence community in November, but his peers largely considered the threat tenuous at best.

A short phone call to one of his contacts was unsettling. "We're not certain what's going on yet, but it's absolutely something to keep an eye on," Dr Yao told him. "I think this will be very, very bad."

Mycroft rang for Andrea after his talk with Yao. "I should like my reports from epidemiology on a daily rather than a weekly basis for the time being," he said. "Something is happening in China that has me extremely uneasy."

Andrea nodded. "Of course, Mr Holmes. I'll see to it."

By December 20th, Mycroft's unsettled concern had become an outbreak in Wuhan. His call to the Prime Minister was dismissed as irrelevant, given it was "only" a handful of cases in China. "Who cares about China? I've got Brexit to worry about," was his only response. 

Mycroft's talks with Public Health officials left him unconvinced that the government would move before the epidemic left China, which it surely would. Epidemics were absolutely a national security priority, but the shortsightedness of his colleagues regarding nearly anything other than direct terrorist threats was a constant annoyance.

On the 21st, after the release of a statement from China's Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Mycroft called his Hebridean facility and had a lengthy conference with Airmid Ltd.'s director and coordination team. "I'm becoming very concerned with this pneumonia epidemic taking shape in China," he told them. "We need to keep a close eye on this as it develops."

"We've been watching it, too," Dr Singh said. "I think you're quite right to be concerned."

He got home late that evening, tired and stressed. "What's wrong, love?" Greg asked. 

Mycroft wrapped his partner in a hug, soaking in the warmth of Greg's returned embrace. "Something is developing in China that has me worried," he said. 

"You don't usually talk about work."

Mycroft nodded into Greg's shoulder. "Were it any of the usual things, I wouldn't, but this is likely to become public fairly soon."

Greg took him by the hand and led him into the library, pouring him a brandy. He handed it to Mycroft as they both sat on the sofa side by side. "What's going on, then?"

"A nascent epidemic. It has characteristics that deeply concern me. If it should become a widespread epidemic, I fear it may escape the region of its origin and turn into a pandemic."

Greg looked at him, worry in his dark eyes. "Sounds serious."

"While, at the moment, it seems to be contained in one region, it will be if it spreads. I'm trying to get the attention of the government on the issue beforehand. There have been other recent epidemics that had pandemic potential, but swift action on an international basis was able to counter the spread and contain it. The fact that the origin of this particular pneumonia is unknown at this time is, to me, the most worrying thing." Mycroft took a couple of large swallows of the brandy. "I know it's late. Have you eaten yet?"

"Just a snack. You hadn't called, so I hoped you'd be home early enough for dinner together. Spag bol?"

Mycroft nodded. "That sounds appetizing."

Greg smiled at him. "Come on to the kitchen. I'll get it started and we can relax a bit over dinner, yeah?"

Mycroft sank into a chair at the table while Greg cooked. He diced onions and mushrooms for the sauce as his partner sauteed ground meat and started water for the spaghetti. Soon the room began to smell wonderful and Mycroft's slightly unsettled stomach eased. At least he'd be able to eat tonight.

Greg put their plates down with a kiss to Mycroft's temple, and he leaned into it slightly, needing the warmth. "How was your day, Gregory?"

"Same as usual," Greg said, swirling spaghetti on his fork. "Lot of paperwork today, catching up on a billion things between active investigations."

"I know how you love paperwork." Mycroft smiled.

Greg snorted. "Yeah. My favorite thing. Almost as good as weekly HR meetings."

Christmas passed relatively quietly, given that Mycroft was _persona non grata_ with his parents after the Eurus incident. He much preferred spending the day at home with Gregory anyway. His daily updates from epidemiology continued, though, and Mycroft found no reason for his concern to abate.

Wuhan's urgent notice on the 30th of December set all of Mycroft's alarms ringing regarding quarantines and the sequencing of what looked like an entirely new virus. Mycroft wasn't able to speak with anyone in the UK government due to the holidays and resigned himself to attempting to raise an alarm after the New Year. He contented himself with arranging to have a copy of the sequences so far discovered sent to his Hebridean facility, with support for them to acquire more information as it became available.

January 2020

Early January brought more alarming news from China, with reports of one or more cases in Singapore. "It's escaped," Mycroft thought. His call that day to Airmid, Ltd. in the Hebrides also brought the news that the United Nations had activated its incident management systems within China. The World Health Organization was also keeping a close eye on the situation.

"It's some kind of novel Coronavirus, currently designated 2019 nCoV," Dr Singh said. "Very high odds on human-to-human transmission, in my opinion."

"The Chinese government appears to be covering up their numbers," Mycroft noted, consulting his reports. "It seems the Americans were alerted earlier, but they appear to be ignoring the situation."

"I take it you've been trying to raise the alarm here?" Singh asked.

"Without success."

"Keep trying, Mr Holmes."

By the 7th, the US Center for Disease Control had issued travel advisories to Wuhan in Hubei Province. On the 8th, Hong Kong and South Korea were seeing rising numbers of suspected incidents, and Mycroft's facility had its hands on the full genome sequence of the virus. There was some suspicion that there might be more than one strain, but no further data was currently available. 

Mycroft's continuing efforts to advise the British government met with skepticism. 

Lady Smallwood shook her head when Mycroft brought it up with her again that afternoon. "Yes, we are aware that epidemics are a security risk, but it's nowhere near our shores at this point. Really, Mycroft, people are going to think you're an alarmist. This isn't like you at all."

"Surely that should tell you something about the seriousness with which I regard this situation, Alicia. You're well aware that I do not exaggerate threats."

"There's a first time for everything, and this appears to be yours."

"And how many of our colleagues travel frequently within China? Hong Kong? South Korea?" he asked. "How long do you think it will be before it reaches London?"

"I'd advise you to concentrate on other areas for a while, Mycroft. I think you're becoming obsessed with this. It's just a new influenza strain, I'm sure. Nothing worse than the usual seasonal illnesses." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and Mycroft, frustrated, went back to his own office to put together some modeling numbers with appropriate maps and graphics, hoping that he could convince someone that this would shortly become an acute crisis.

By the 16th of January, there were known or suspected cases in Thailand, Japan and the United States. Mycroft's nights by now were restless, with very little sleep.

"I'm getting worried about you," Greg said, late that night. "You're not sleeping, love. This is going to start affecting your health soon." Mycroft reached out to him and they held each other as Greg tried to soothe him to sleep with a slow, gentle circling of his hand on Mycroft's back.

"It's spreading, Gregory. No one is listening to me. I can't begin to express how frustrating this is."

"I know, love, I know. You're doing what you can. I remember how hard you fought them on that Brexit shite, and how they never once listened to you." Greg's voice was quiet in the darkness of their room. "The fact that most of the government is composed of absolute idiots is something you've been harping on since I've known you. This is just proof of it all, as if you needed any. They know how you can see things coming. That's why you do what you do, it's why you're in the position you're in."

Mycroft sighed. "At least you listen to me."

"Learned to early on, didn't I?" Greg nuzzled at Mycroft's face and kissed him softly. "Not actually stupid."

"I know," Mycroft whispered. "You don't know how reassuring that is."

On the 20th, China stated that they had identified three strains of the virus, and that illness among the hospital staff in Guangdong confirmed human to human transmission. More laboratory confirmed cases were added to the slowly growing list, and Mycroft worried about the cases that were likely being withheld from the public eye.

By the end of the week, Wuhan had shut down its public transportation systems, and Vietnam, Australia and Canada were reporting suspected cases. The disease itself had spread through most of China. "It's moving quickly," Mycroft told Andrea. "It will undoubtedly arrive here soon, given that travel has not been restricted except within Wuhan itself."

"I've tried to set up another meeting with the PM, sir, but he's not currently willing to speak with you."

Mycroft sighed and rested his head in one hand. "The man's a fool. He and that accursed orange menace in the states will oversee massive amounts of destruction if things don't change." He looked up at her. "You do believe me, don't you?" He'd not felt quite so uncertain in a long time.

Andrea nodded. "I've never known you to be wrong in your risk assessments, and only rarely regarding other matters. Everyone knows your reputation, Mr Holmes. I can't understand why they aren't paying any attention to your repeated attempts to bring them the facts of the matter."

He shook his head. "Please, have a seat." Mycroft gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "This is off the record, Andrea." She tilted her head and said nothing, listening. "While the WHO has not yet declared it so, I believe this has become a pandemic. I fear at some point, if this goes as badly as I suspect it might, that we may need to go into isolation."

"Your Hebridean facility?"

Mycroft nodded. "Very likely. I doubt London will ultimately be safe. For the moment, it is a provisional plan, but I want to be sure that the village there has isolation facilities, if quarantine is necessary, for up to a dozen people. At this point, however, I believe it may be wise to reduce my public presence. I'd like to keep face to face meetings to an absolute minimum."

"I'll see to it, sir." She rose.

"Mycroft, please. After all this time, and under the circumstances, I believe that our formalities can be dispensed with in private."

Andrea nodded to him, a hint of a smile on her face. "I'll see to it, Mycroft. And thank you."

On the 27th of January, Mycroft watched the three hour presentation by Gabriel Leung, Dean of the University of Hong Kong medical school, who offered modeling and predictions regarding the pandemic. It was much as Mycroft had feared, and the measures that Leung suggested were utterly draconian, but he stated that he did not believe that even those efforts would actually stop the spread. By the end of the day, suspected cases were being reported in Austria, Romania, Mongolia, Fiji, Samoa, and other countries.

By the end of January, Italy was reporting cases, had suspended all flights to and from China, and declared a state of emergency. The United Kingdom also reported its first suspected case, and Mycroft demanded a meeting with the Prime Minister and the Department of Health and Social Care. While he was able to speak with them, his analysis was again regarded as merely alarmist or at least extremely premature. Enraged and exhausted, Mycroft wept at his desk.

February 2020

Greg watched, worried, as Mycroft became more and more absorbed with his analysis of the spread of the virus. It seemed like the disease was nearly everywhere now, though most places outside of China only had small numbers of infections and deaths so far.

"The growth will become exponential soon," Mycroft told him, late one evening as they sat by the fire. "There will be a flashpoint beyond which continued spread will be extremely difficult to control."

"Why are they not listening to you?" Greg asked, intending it as a rhetorical question.

"Governments prefer that the populace not panic, especially when they refuse to listen to the epidemiologists regarding necessary measures for containment and control," Mycroft grumbled. 

"I suppose it's understandable, though, from a law enforcement point of view. Nobody wants riots."

"No one wants thousands of deaths, either, Gregory. Yet that is what we shall surely be contending with if measures are not put into place before things get out of control. The NHS will likely be overwhelmed, particularly in the cities." Mycroft's shoulders were slumped and the sadness in his eyes was painful to see.

"What do you think needs to happen, then, to keep it under control?" Greg wasn't certain he wanted to hear the answer, but his instinct was to comfort, and to trust that Mycroft knew what he was talking about.

"Voluntary isolation to keep people from unknowingly exposing one another, at minimum. This appears to have a long incubation period where individuals carry the virus without being aware of it. You and I could isolate easily, of course, but much of the population will have difficulty with this due to the necessity to pay rent and put food on the table."

Greg shook his head. "Murders aren't going to stop if people are shut away in their houses and flats. DV cases would go through the roof."

"I know." Mycroft looked up at him. "I would be extremely concerned for your safety under such circumstances due to the potential for you to be exposed."

"Do you really think I'd be at risk? I mean, I'm not exactly young anymore, but I'm healthy enough."

"At this point it's difficult to tell. The deaths haven't yet fallen into a pattern of particularly at risk demographics. I'll simply say that I would worry a great deal. It…" Mycroft took a slow, deep breath. "I have been alone for so much of my life, my dear, that risking you is utterly abhorrent to me. I ask that you keep this in mind as the situation progresses, and that if I believe it best for you to step away from your work at some point, that you will at least give consideration to my request."

Greg's pulse picked up at the thought. "You really think it'll come to that."

"Sooner rather than later," Mycroft murmured, reaching out to take Greg's hand.

"Jesus," Greg whispered, reaching out to hold Mycroft. The idea swirled in Greg's head, and he fought with his own instinctive resistance to the idea. His need to help people and his knowledge that Mycroft was likely right warred within him. At least Mycroft wasn't making any demands just yet. Greg was uncertain how he'd react if the time came for him to make that decision.

Mycroft clung to him, making an effort to breathe evenly.

Several days later, Greg arrived home late after a case, to find Mycroft in his office shouting on the phone. "We cannot let them go! You know they won't listen to me but surely you could persuade them?"

Mycroft listened and Greg could hear the response, loud enough to recognize Sherlock's voice, but not to hear what was being said.

"But a _cruise_ , Sherlock - I know you've seen the situation on the news, and you are aware that things are far worse than what the public is being told."

Another pause and more Sherlockian squawking.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, I am not the one attempting to conceal information here. I've spent the best part of the last _six weeks_ trying to talk sense into our government! No one is listening to me. They stare at me blankly, nod their heads, and dismiss every last word I have to say." Mycroft made a disgusted noise. "Even my colleagues think I'm overreacting. I am _not overreacting to this_. The situation worsens every bloody day and each delay will only serve to make things worse. Use your brain, brother mine, and look at the evidence."

The next response wasn't audible, and Greg stepped into the room, letting Mycroft see him. Mycroft nodded and finished his call. "Please, Sherlock, try to talk some sense into Mummy. You know how she gets. If they go, this will not end well."

Mycroft set his phone on the desk, rose, and buried himself in Greg's arms. "They want to go on a _cruise_ , Gregory. They'd scheduled it around Christmas and are refusing to cancel. Much as my relationship with them is troubled, they are still my parents, and I am not eager to see them die of something preventable."

"What did Sherlock say?" Greg asked, holding him close.

"That he'd try, but we both know there are no guarantees." Mycroft shivered.

"The news programs are framing this mostly as something that's happening in other places," Greg said. "I'm hearing a lot of conspiracy theories at work and in the streets. Most people just don't know what to believe, or who to listen to."

Mycroft sighed and nodded. "The deliberately anti-intellectual bent of the government and their encouragement of the populace to be suspicious of experts has brought us to this. I've decided that I'm no longer going to be having face to face meetings with anyone, nor shall I allow Andrea or my other direct employees to have contact with anyone outside of that small group. I shall see to it that those with families are able to have their family members remove themselves from public contact with them. I want to reduce our risks as much as possible."

"And what about me?" Greg asked.

Mycroft held him tighter. "I hope that you'll join me in restricting your exposure to others as much as you can. I don't expect that I'll be able to convince you just yet, but please, Gregory, be as careful as you can and be certain that if you touch anything or anyone, you clean your hands thoroughly as soon as possible afterwards. Some testing is available and I'd like to be sure that you are tested regularly until such time as you are ready to join me in isolation."

Greg was silent for several minutes, just holding Mycroft, trying to understand the situation and Mycroft's feelings of urgency. "So what you're saying is that if I keep going to work, I'd be the only possible carrier of the thing to you, and everyone you work with, and their families."

"Yes," Mycroft whispered.

"And you're… willing to take that risk," Greg said, his heart aching.

"You're not yet convinced of the seriousness of the situation and I cannot force you into isolation against your will." Mycroft sounded devastated. "I take the risk because I must. I fear losing you to the pandemic, but I also fear that attempting to force you into this would drive you away, and I could lose you by that method, as well."

Greg took a deep breath. "Mycroft, how about this. I have… I think I have over a month of paid leave saved up. What if I applied for all of it tomorrow morning when I got in, then you could push it through, and we can see what happens after that? I could be home with you by the end of the week. Make further decisions when we know better what's going on?"

Mycroft looked up into Greg's eyes, then took his face in both hands and kissed him with a fierce passion. Greg was left breathless as Mycroft said, "That… that's perfect. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I don't want to lose you, either, love. And I sure as hell don't want to be that kind of hole in your security, or to put your health at risk, either. I can't do that to you, or to Andrea or to any of the other folks who work with you; certainly not to their families, or their kids." Greg still had doubts, but his faith in Mycroft's knowledge and his analysis was unshaken. If things for some reason didn't fall out the way Mycroft expected, at least they'd have something of a holiday, be able to spend more time together than usual for a while. 

The next morning at work, when Greg applied for his leave, he called Sally into his office. "Look, Sally," he said, "I'm putting in for some time off."

She nodded. "You've been working hard lately, and you've looked pretty out of sorts the last month or so. Something happening?"

"It's... it's this virus thing, really. Mycroft's more worried than I've ever seen him. He's saying it's going to spread, and when it does it'll be fast and hard. You know I'm not usually one to walk away from a bad situation if I can help someone, but he's… let's just say that he's convinced me it's for the best to keep a distance from other people until we know a lot more about what's happening."

"What, really? I mean, I heard it's just like a bad seasonal flu, yeah? Nothing too much to worry about."

"You've seen the news out of China, right? And how it's in so many other countries right now?"

Sally shrugged. "I don't think it'll be that bad. I mean, if you want to go hide, that's your choice."

He ignored the veiled accusation in her words. "I"m going to suggest that you pay close attention to what's happening. You may not believe me now, but Mycroft's never wrong about this kind of stuff."

"What, you mean like Sherlock's never wrong?" She snorted.

Greg shook his head. "No, they're different, much as they share a lot of personality traits. Mycroft's been wrong about things before, but not when he's talking about this kind of thing. Not when he's talking about security threats. Best to anticipate them if you can. But you'll believe what you want, I know. Just, when things start going bad, please, keep yourself safe, okay?"

Sally chuckled. "Of course, boss. When the apocalypse comes, I'll get out the cricket bat for the zombies."

"I'm serious, Sal. You can treat it like a joke today, but when things start going all to shite, please remember what I'm telling you right now." He handed her a stack of files. "Can you get these out to the constables on the cases? You know where they all need to go."

"Yeah, absolutely. Good luck getting your holiday, and I'll see you when you get back." She turned and left his office, and Greg sighed, his face buried in his hands. God, now he knew how Mycroft must feel.

Greg's leave was approved by lunchtime, to start the next day, which was faster than he'd thought even Mycroft could pull it off. Bureaucracy tended to have grit in the wheels at the best of times, and he knew that his partner must have put some serious effort into dealing with the request the instant it hit the HR desk. He didn't want to even think about what strings Mycroft had pulled.

The next day was the 14th of February, and Greg was at home with Mycroft, who was working from their flat. He made dinner for them as the news announced that two MPs were self-quarantining after having attended a conference where someone with the virus had also been in attendance. Mycroft's reaction was a sigh and a sad shake of his head. 

Greg lit a couple of candles in the dining room, trying to give them a little touch of romance for the day, though neither of them had celebrated Valentines Day before, not being very much into the concept. "I appreciate your attempt to offer some comfort, Gregory," Mycroft said as they sat together over dinner. "Honestly, your presence here is more than I could have hoped for."

"You know I love you," Greg told him. "And if we're going to be here in close quarters for who knows how long, I think it's best to try and celebrate the little things when we can. I just… I know how hard you're working, and I'm not doing anything for five weeks, so I want to support you as best I can."

"You being here at all does more for my peace of mind and my sanity than you can imagine. That you were willing to take the step of staying home before the measures come down from the government, assuming they take those steps when the situation becomes so obvious that even the blind could see it, has given me hope when I have had so very little recently."

Greg reached across the table to Mycroft and took his hand. "You mean the world to me, My. I can't say I really wanted to do this, but I trust you. I believe in you. I'd do anything to stay with you now that I've found you."

Mycroft nodded. "You always seemed such a miracle to me. After dinner, would you…" he hesitated for a moment. "Please, Greg, after dinner, take me to bed."

Greg smiled at him. "You've been so stressed lately, I wasn't sure you'd be feeling up to it. This whole thing has been really rough on you."

"Your willingness to be here has lifted an immense weight from my mind, and I find myself much more able to contemplate such things than I have been in weeks. I do truly apologize if I've been neglecting you."

"I never felt neglected," Greg insisted as he ate, "just concerned. We both know how work stress can get to us sometimes. I always knew you cared, and you've never pulled away from me at night even when you weren't in the mood."

"Many nights, having you close was the only comfort I had." Mycroft sighed happily as he ate the baked salmon with sauteed zucchini that Greg had prepared. It was simple but delicious, and Greg knew it was light enough that it wouldn't disturb Mycroft's sometimes dodgy digestion when he was upset. He was no great shakes as a cook, but he could manage easy, tasty things without trouble. He thought maybe he'd go through the cookbook collection Mycroft had but never used and see if he could learn a few new things while they were housebound.

Greg finished his food. "Oh, I can definitely be a comfort tonight," he said, grinning at Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled back. "You really are incorrigible."

"Well, you do love to incorrige me." Mycroft actually chuckled, the first time Greg had heard him make a sound even close to laughter in far too long. "Finish up, love. There's a bed waiting for us."

Mycroft's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "This is exactly what I mean." His eyes crinkled as he smiled. He took his time finishing what was on his plate, but Greg was a patient man.

When Mycroft finished, they took their plates to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher, then headed upstairs to their bedroom, with a stop in the ensuite to brush their teeth. Mycroft stayed close to Greg, an arm around his waist, as they walked together. When they got to the bed, Greg turned and pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft's lips, holding him close, and Mycroft shivered against him, opening his mouth to Greg's tongue.

Mycroft's hands trembled slightly as he unbuttoned Greg's shirt. Greg let him, and unbuttoned Mycroft with somewhat steadier hands, kissing him the entire time. After a couple of weeks without, he knew they both needed each other and he felt a deep upwelling of tenderness for the man. Their hands caressed each other as they shed their layers of clothing and Greg sighed into the kiss, echoed by Mycroft's soft, needy breath.

"What do you want, love?" Greg murmured, his lips moving against Mycroft's neck.

"Your skin," Mycroft whispered. "To feel you moving against me. To find release with you, in your arms."

Greg nodded and pulled Mycroft down onto the bed with him, moving the covers out of the way before they lay on the sheet together. He pulled Mycroft into his arms, their bodies pressed close, and caressed him, not just with his hands, but with his arms and his legs as well, slowly and gently as Mycroft made quiet, contented sounds and sought Greg's mouth with his own.

Mycroft reached down and tugged the covers over them, up to their hips, for a little warmth because the room was a little cooler than the kitchen had been. They'd be more than warm enough soon, but Greg could feel the gooseflesh creeping up Mycroft's side and smoothed it away with the warmth of his hand.

They moved together slowly, rocking their bodies against each other for a while, until Mycroft reached into the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube they kept there. He slicked both of their cocks and dropped it back into the drawer, both of them sighing with content at the way it eased their movement. Neither of them was in any hurry. They whispered soft words of love to each other and kissed slow and deep as they moved.

The peak built, gradual and satisfying, and their breath grew harsh and deep as the pleasure flowed over them in waves. Greg pulled Mycroft to him, his hands gripping his lover's buttocks, pressing against him hard as his heart thundered and their hips thrust. Mycroft groaned quietly and reached between them, grasping them both and stroking them; Greg was overcome by the feel of Mycroft's hand around them and shuddered through his orgasm, gasping into Mycroft's ear. Mycroft squeezed them, then shook and gasped as he came against Greg's body.

They lay together, breathless, for several minutes as they came down from their high. Slowly, their breathing evened out, and Mycroft pressed kisses into Greg's hair, whispering, "You are the dearest thing in my life, Gregory. How I managed without you for so many years is a mystery to me."

Greg smiled and shook his head. "You give me too much credit."

"No," Mycroft murmured. "Not nearly enough. I shall brook no arguments on this topic. I am the acknowledged expert on my own life."

Greg laughed, holding Mycroft close as things got a bit sticky between them. "Fair enough," he acknowledged. "Just so glad we have each other now." He nuzzled Mycroft's nose and kissed him again. "Should get up and clean this mess off, though. Don't want to stick to you."

Mycroft grumbled but agreed.

As February went on, Greg watched with a sense of shock as flights were canceled, huge events were shut down, and borders were closed. When Italy imposed lockdowns on several regions in the north, he knew that Mycroft had been far more right than he'd ever imagined.

"This really is going to get bad, isn't it?" he said, as they sat together watching the nightly news.

"It's already far worse than it appears," Mycroft answered, grim and pale. "Until everyone begins imposing quarantine measures and health checks, the spread will continue. I think we are about to see a sharp spike in the number of cases." He drew a slow, harsh breath. "The number of deaths will show a similar spike. At this point, it's impossible to know how long this will last. I feel like bloody Cassandra."

"I know you've been pushing for more action. Has nobody been doing anything? It seems like the UK's response has been pretty casual. And you really are Cassandra right now, aren't you? Telling them the truth and not a single damned one of them believing you."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "I might almost believe myself cursed, as she was. They're currently really only paying attention to people who have traveled through China, Iran, and the most affected areas of Italy and South Korea. The Chief Medical Advisor has only raised the risk assessment to moderate. I believe that's not nearly a robust enough response." Mycroft leaned into Greg on the sofa. "I've been in daily contact with my facility in the Hebrides and none of us approves of the current governmental response."

"But your people are working on it." He'd heard Mycroft mention the place frequently, though with little detail.

"Yes. It's completely isolated, and protocols are in place to keep it so. That said, I'm ensuring that they have access to every possible resource and source of information. We are working on the matter with all due care and seriousness."

"And your meeting today with the authorities?" Greg almost didn't dare ask.

"I was told 'it won't be very bad here' and that 'we are considering every angle'. I was also told that I was a raving conspiracy theorist," Mycroft spat. "Bloody idiots, the lot of them."

"How can they not see that it's getting worse every day?" Greg said, putting an arm around Mycroft's shoulders. "They have a lot more information than I do, and this is really getting alarming, just what I'm seeing on the news shows and the articles online."

"Arrogance," Mycroft said. "Money. Control. A lack of concern for anyone they consider 'disposable.'"

Greg growled, "Most of the population, then."

"Historically, the wealthy and powerful have considered themselves immune to pandemics, only to die with everyone else." Mycroft shook his head. "We are all a part of the human condition, much as we might object. My intelligence won't guard me from the virus, nor my money. They only give me tools to fight its spread."

"You're doing what you can, love." Greg only wished he had the ability to do anything at all to help. Their two weeks in the solitude of the flat, with only Mycroft's closest people, had been chafing on Greg, who prefered movement and action. Their balcony over the interior courtyard of the building wasn't enough of the outdoors for him, but he understood the necessity. He kept his frustration and restlessness to himself as much as he could, and availed himself of Mycroft's treadmill pretty much daily.

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "I can only hope that, ultimately, it will be enough."

March 2020

Mycroft and Andrea read over the daily reports together in Mycroft's office at the flat. "The intelligence community is finally beginning to take this more seriously," Andrea noted, "but the politicians, as usual, remain a lost cause."

He nodded. "When are they not, though? That lunatic Johnson is _shaking hands with coronavirus patients_." Mycroft shook his head in disgust as he scrolled through a few pages. "The developments in Italy are also quite alarming."

"The population skews elderly," Andrea noted. "They do tend to be more vulnerable."

"There are also the Italian tendencies to greet and part with a kiss on the cheek," Mycroft cringed, not being particularly fond of such displays, "and to believe that rules are largely things to be got around rather than cooperated with. I fear that the combination is going to be disastrous."

"Do you think our people are going to learn anything at all from it?" Andrea sounded justifiably skeptical.

"I'm not holding out much hope, really. I think the worst trouble spots will be the US and Brazil, though. What passes for 'leadership' there is unbelievable. The incompetence and corruption make the UK look like a haven of sanity."

"Rather frightening."

Mycroft nodded. "Indeed."

Andrea looked up from her documents. "How is Greg holding up? I didn't have the chance to speak with him today when I came in."

With a sigh, Mycroft closed his laptop. "He's showing the strain. We both are, really. We bicker more than we ever did before. I know he's been feeling useless, and we're both working on things that he can do to contribute something to the situation."

"I thought I heard him playing his guitar when I came in." She smiled. "He's really rather good."

Mycroft smiled. "He is, isn't he? And I'm grateful he has at least something to take his mind off the situation." Mycroft's smile faded. "Still, he genuinely does need something useful to do. I fear he'll resent me before this is over."

"If we have to relocate, there'll be more for him to do at Airmid. He'll also be able to get out of confinement and have more space."

"That's coming," Mycroft agreed, "sooner rather than later. Things are going to go bad here fairly soon, I'm certain."

"What about your brother?" Her brow wrinkled in concern.

Mycroft shook his head. "Believe it or not, it's been easier to speak with John about this. He's been much more inclined to take the spread of a pandemic seriously than Sherlock, and he has at least slightly more concern for their personal safety as regards Rosamund and Mrs Hudson."

A soft tapping interrupted them. "Tea for you lot?" Greg called through the closed door.

"Come in, Gregory, we're not in the middle of anything at the moment." Mycroft looked up as his partner entered, and Andrea closed her documents. "Tea actually sounds like a fine idea."

Greg nodded and looked at Andrea. "I'd love some," she said.

"Kitchen, then," Greg replied, "I'm not the housekeeper." He shook his head. "God, now I know how Mrs Hudson feels." He quirked a crooked smile at them. "Got the kettle on, we can drag out a few biscuits."

Mycroft rose and took Greg's hand as Andrea followed them into the kitchen. He selected the tea and got the pot ready as Greg rummaged through the biscuit collection. "I'll have some croissants brought in tomorrow with the groceries," Mycroft said. "Biscuits are all well and good, but I think I'd prefer something with a little dark chocolate."

Andrea sat at the table. "I quite enjoyed your playing when I came in, Greg. You're really very good."

"Oh, thanks." Greg laid out a plate of biscuits. "Got more time on my hands than I know what to do with. Better I should be doing something than just stewing in my own juices. Gets hard sometimes."

"I understand."

Greg shrugged and sat. "At least you two still have work you can do. Me, I'm technically on hols, and you can't do murder investigations from home anyway, Sherlock's occasional attempts notwithstanding."

Mycroft poured hot water into the teapot and let it steep, bringing it to the table and sitting with them. "You may get your wish for more freedom and activity soon, if things continue as they are."

"Oh? How so?" Greg gave him a puzzled look. "You're giving serious thought to your place in the Hebrides, are you?"

"Yes." Mycroft nodded. "Most likely sometime in the next week or two."

"What happens when my leave is up?"

Uncomfortable, Mycroft suggested, "Indefinite leave of absence, perhaps. It's unlikely this will be over anytime soon. Things are worsening on a global scale. I fear having to discuss this with Sherlock and John."

"They'll blow you off," Greg said. "Sherlock will, anyway. John won't want to do anything that takes him away from the clinic." He nibbled at a biscuit as Mycroft poured their tea.

"Still, I can't just leave without trying to talk some sense into them." 

Greg sighed. "You've not heard anything from your parents recently?"

"Their cruise ship is currently stranded at sea with several cases aboard, but I've not been able to get specific information regarding the identity of those affected. The report came in very early this morning." Mycroft tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but both of the others knew him too well for the attempt at deception. "I have people on the problem."

Greg got up and went to Mycroft, hugging him tightly. "God, I know how hard you and Sherlock tried to talk them out of it."

"Mummy has always…" Mycroft couldn't finish the sentence. The amount of emotion behind the words was overwhelming and he refused to break down, choosing instead to try to armor himself by distancing from it.

"You can't protect people who refuse to be protected," Andrea said.

Mycroft just nodded, sadness and anger warring behind shuttered eyes. A year ago he'd never have imagined being willing or able to show even this much vulnerability in front of her, but the changes that the pandemic had brought upon them were wearing upon him as much as everyone else who had been affected. He leaned into Greg's embrace and slipped his arms around his partner. After a moment, he buried his face in Greg's warm chest. They stayed like that for a few minutes until Mycroft had collected himself again. "The tea will get cold," he murmured.

Greg gave him a squeeze before he let Mycroft go and took his seat again.

The three of them talked about nothing at all of consequence for an hour or so until it was time for Mycroft and Andrea to go back to work.

The 13th of March began with a phone call from Lady Smallwood just as Mycroft was getting dressed in the morning after his shower. "You'll need to hear Vallance's announcement on Radio 4 shortly," she said. "He wants… good lord, he's recommending that we do nothing and develop a 'herd immunity.'"

"You can't be serious, Alicia!" Mycroft snapped into the phone. He turned and looked down at Gregory. "Turn on Radio 4. The chief scientific advisor is about to make an announcement. I cannot believe what I've just been told about the government's response!"

Greg leaned over and turned on the radio next to the bed that he used as an alarm, changing from his usual morning music to Radio 4.

"At this point, Mycroft, I believe I owe you an apology," Lady Smallwood said. "This has absolutely gone too far."

"What's happening?" Greg asked.

"Alicia, I'll speak with you again after I've heard this lunacy for myself." He rang off and sat with Greg on the bed, half-dressed. Greg wasn't fully awake, but he was swiftly getting that way, and they listened impatiently until Sir Patrick Vallance came on, propounding a preposterous program of encouraging herd immunity by allowing at least 60% of the population to get the disease.

"What the bloody buggering hell is he thinking?" Greg said. "Is he not looking at what's happening in Italy? I swear to god, this is insane!"

Mycroft buried his face in both hands. "We are in complete accord," he growled. "I cannot believe this is an actual plan. I'm going to lodge formal complaints and then we are packing and heading for the facility. I want us out of London by tonight." He looked up. "I need to speak to Sherlock and John, but first I have a number of urgent calls to make."

Greg, shocked and solemn, nodded. "Right, then. I'll shower and start packing our stuff. Hebrides, yeah? Still winter clothes for most of that."

"The weather is unlikely to be terribly pleasant outside - frigid and quite windy - but our first 14 days will be spent in quarantine after we've been tested for the virus. We'll be indoors and as comfortable as we are here."

Winter clothing it was, then. "Just so I know what to bring," Greg said, rolling out of bed with a groan, and then stretching as Mycroft got up to finish dressing. "About when do you think we'll be speaking to John and Sherlock? Are you going to try phoning them, or were we going to Baker Street?"

"Baker Street," Mycroft answered. "If they agree, they'll be traveling with us. I expect us to arrive around three this afternoon."

"I'll give John a heads up, make sure they're both at the flat. No use going if they're not there."

Mycroft nodded as he finished tying his tie. "Splendid. That'll save me some time, thank you. I have more than enough phone calls to make if we're going to get out of here at a reasonable time."

Greg headed for the shower and heard Mycroft already shouting into the phone as he started the water. His lover's voice faded as he left the bedroom and, presumably, headed for his office. Greg showered and dressed quickly, then phoned John.

"Greg, what's up?"

"I take it you weren't listening to Radio 4 this morning, because you're not screaming already," Greg said.

"No, what happened?"

Greg sighed. "Look, Mycroft and I are going to be by about three this afternoon, so please, be at your flat with Sherlock when we get there. It's important. Bloody government has just announced they want to let sixty percent of the population come down with the coronavirus in some idiotic attempt to create herd immunity. Mycroft's about to have an aneurism or something here."

"What?" John's voice was filled with shocked disbelief. "That's fucking insane."

"Yeah, mate, that's what Mycroft and I think, too. So, please, be at Baker Street when we get there. We've got some important things to talk about with you lot."

"Jesus Christ," John growled. "Yeah, right. I'll make sure his highness is here then. This is… fuck."

"I have to run, John. I've got a ton of things to do before we get there. I'll see you later."

"Cheers, Greg. God, I hope Mycroft rips them all new ones."

"You should be here. He's been screaming at people on the phone for the last 20 minutes or so. I don't think he's going to stop before we have to go see you."

"At least he's good for something."

Greg was still annoyed that John hadn't been able to let go of his anger and distrust of Mycroft, but it wasn't the moment for it. He rang off, hoping that they'd be able to persuade his friends of the urgency of the situation, and the need to leave the city.

After Greg dressed, he made some breakfast and brought tea and some food up to Mycroft in his office. He was furious and obviously catching his breath between phone calls, cursing softly to himself. "You should eat something and have a little tea before you go back to breaking necks, love. Your voice will go on you if you shred it like that without a rest between calls."

Mycroft sighed and nodded. "You're right, of course. Andrea should be here momentarily, if you could make sure she has a cup of tea as well."

"Yeah, I talked to John. He said he'll try to have Sherlock at Baker Street at three when we get there."

Mycroft stood and went to Greg, hugging him. "Thank you. That's a relief. I appreciate your efforts. I hope that Sherlock will listen."

"When I told John what was going on, he was no more pleased than either of us. I suspect he'll be able to corral Sherlock long enough for us to talk to them. After breakfast, I'll get to putting things in our bags for the trip."

"You are a godsend, Gregory." Mycroft kissed him then started on his tea and toast. Greg headed back to the kitchen to bring his tea and some for Andrea to Mycroft's office. He got there in time to find Andrea arriving, looking like she'd had no better morning than he or Mycroft.

"You going to be all right?" he asked.

"That depends entirely upon how many idiots Mycroft has already managed to strangle," she grumbled.

Greg chuckled, though without much humor in it. "He's been at it since the Radio 4 announcement. I wish I could say I can't believe it, but…" He shrugged and led her into the office, setting the tea tray down.

"We're going to the facility this afternoon, Andrea," Mycroft said.

She sighed and nodded. "I suspected as much. I'm already packed and my things are in the car."

"Very good." Mycroft sipped his tea and gestured for them both to sit. "We'll be making a stop at my brother's before we go. I need to at least attempt to talk him and Doctor Watson into accompanying us."

Andrea's brow wrinkled. "I have my doubts."

"As do I, but it must be attempted, nonetheless."

Greg's day was spent packing and sorting through things, then hauling their bags out to the car. They'd probably need a second if they were likely to collect Sherlock and his entourage. He wasn't certain if any of them would be going, but it would be wise to have space, just in case, given there would likely be Rosie and Mrs Hudson if the boys went along.

They arrived at Baker Street a few minutes before three, Mycroft and Andrea both still on the phone, frantically trying to organize a resistance to the government's plan. Organizing a resistance to the government was never something Greg would have imagined in connection to either Mycroft or Andrea, but these were strange and terrible times. All of them put on masks to exit the car and enter the building, then removed them and disinfected their hands when they got into John and Sherlock's flat. John eyed them, but said nothing.

"John told me you were coming," Sherlock said. "You've been trying to talk sense into the senseless all day, I'm sure."

Mycroft, exhausted, nodded. "Indeed. The time has come, Sherlock. We are leaving for the Hebrides and I would genuinely prefer that you and yours join us there."

"The Hebrides?" John asked.

"I have a private medical research facility there," Mycroft answered. "Your help would be greatly appreciated."

"A medical research facility?" John gave him a puzzled look. "You have a medical research facility?"

Rosie came pelting into the room from upstairs. "Uncle Greg! Uncle Mycroff!" She threw herself at Greg and he swung her up into his arms.

"Hey sunshine." He hugged her, even knowing she might have been exposed. It would have been much too hard to explain to a child of five that he couldn't give her a hug. He held her as Mycroft and the others talked.

"A private corporation under the name Airmid, Limited. I incorporated it some years ago specifically as a research facility for dealing with pandemics," Mycroft explained. "Our mission is to develop drugs for treatments, and vaccines. Given the pointed lack of response by our government, I feel it is finally time to relocate so that we are safely away from transmission vectors. When we arrive, we will all be tested and maintain a 14 day quarantine until we can then join the staff at the facility and the village on the island. Everyone there is either an employee or a family member of an employee, so control over access is absolute. I own the island in its entirety."

"You own an island." John crossed his arms, skeptical.

Sherlock snorted. "Really, John, that's not the salient point. The point is, Mycroft wants us to go with him and his minions to assist with the research, and to keep everyone safe from the viral spread."

Rosie got restless in Greg's arms, so he put her down. She went and hugged Mycroft's knee, then deposited herself in Sherlock's lap. He gave her one of her plushies and she ignored them, talking to the little bee as the adults conversed.

John's brow wrinkled. "But I'm not a researcher. I'm a trauma surgeon. I do emergency care, general practice. I'd be useless there. They'll need me more here in London if this gets worse."

"I assure you, John, it will get worse. Much, much worse. Particularly if the government cannot be dissuaded from this patently foolish plan to simply allow the virus to tear through the population unchecked." Mycroft stood with his back stiff and his chin raised, a posture Greg recognized as very defensive. "The village could use a general practitioner, if that would change your mind."

"We're currently doing our best. There's some hope that they'll reverse that decision in the next few days," Andrea added.

"It's… I can't leave London," John said. "I'm worth a lot more working here than I would be on some private island in Scotland."

"If John's not leaving, neither am I," Sherlock said.

"What about Rosie?" Greg asked. "You're going to keep her here in the middle of a pandemic, when she could be safer somewhere else?"

John and Sherlock looked at each other. They looked at Mycroft. "Look, Mycroft," John said, hesitant, "would you and Greg consider taking her with you? Take care of her for us?"

Mycroft looked a bit nonplussed. "Gregory and I will both be working a great deal when we're there. She would be in childcare most of the time, which isn't likely to be the best situation for such a young child, but at least she'd be safe. Of course we'll take her with us. She's family, after all."

Sherlock sighed. "Mrs Hudson!" he shouted.

A few moments later, she came up the stairs. "What is it, boys?" She came in the door and saw Mycroft. "Oh, it's you." Her eyes narrowed.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson."

Rosie looked up. "Grandma Hudders." She smiled. "Can I have a biscuit? Bee wants a biscuit." She held up her bee plushie and wiggled it, making a buzzing noise.

"Maybe in a few minutes, dear." She looked at Sherlock. "What did you need, Sherlock?"

"Mrs Hudson," John said, obviously uncertain how to broach the subject.

Sherlock ploughed into it without preamble. "My brother has come to spirit us away to safety from the pandemic. John, however, being a doctor, doesn't want to leave London. If he's not leaving, neither am I. But Mycroft and Greg have offered to take Rosie with them. Unfortunately, they are ill equipped to care for a child of her age. You, however, frequently watch over her and, due to your age, you are at increased risk if you contract the disease."

Mrs Hudson glared at him. "I may occasionally be your babysitter, but I'm _not_ old!" she insisted.

Mycroft sighed, his eyes rolling. "Yes, I'm certain you're quite young at heart, Mrs Hudson," he said, "however the virus works on proximity and risk factors, not the buoyancy of your youthful spirit. The fact remains that you're at much higher risk here, particularly if John finds himself working shifts in wards with victims of the virus."

"None of us wants to see you get sick, Mrs H," Greg said. He knew she was a bit susceptible to his grin, so he grinned at her, hoping it would ease the way a little. "We're going to a small private island in the Hebrides. There's a village there, with some families and some kids."

"A few are Rosie's age," Andrea added. "She'd not be alone once we passed quarantine."

"Quarantine?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"We shall need to be tested when we arrive, and then we'll be in quarantine until we can be certain we're all free of the virus."

"That sounds a bit dreadful, doesn't it?" she muttered.

"Better than sick," John said. "A lot better than dead. We just want you and Rosie to be safe."

Mrs Hudson pursed her lips. "I suppose the weather's really horrid this time of year."

"Sadly, yes. You'll need to bring your winter things. It'll be quite cold and windy if you're outside at all," Mycroft said. "Indoors, however, it will be entirely comfortable."

"Can I have a biscuit?" Rosie asked, now at Mrs Hudson's feet, and tugging on her dress.

Mrs Hudson picked her up. "Do you want to go on a trip, Rosie?"

Greg gave a silent sigh of relief. Mycroft relaxed minutely.

"Where, Grandma Hudders?"

"Oh, Scotland, dearie. We could go on holiday. You'd be able to meet some new friends there, according to your uncles." She looked up at Greg and Mycroft, uncertainty in her eyes, but obviously willing to go along with them.

"Where's Scotland?"

"Very far north of here, Rosamund. We're going to an island together."

"Daddy and Papa are coming?"

John took Rosie from Mrs Hudson. "We can't right now, honey. Your Daddy's working really hard at the clinic, and Papa has a lot of work as well. But your uncles and Grandma Hudders will take very good care of you." He turned to Mycroft and mouthed a silent 'thank you.' Mycroft nodded to him.

Wrapping the last of the details and getting Mrs Hudson and Rosie packed took another hour. Their parting was strained. "Remember," Mycroft said, "should you change your mind at any time, or should one of you become infected, all you need do is call. I shall arrange your transportation and, if necessary, your care at our advanced research facility."

"I hope it won't come to that," John murmured.

"We all do, mate," Greg said.

Mycroft turned to his brother. "Please, Sherlock, remember that your daughter will need both of her fathers when this is over with. I expect you to call upon me should you need anything at all. I shall do my best to provide." He rested a hand on Sherlock's elbow.

Sherlock nodded and squeezed Mycroft's shoulder. "Take good care of her. And of yourselves. We're counting on you."

Their little group departed, crowded into Mycroft's car, and made their way to the London City Airport, where a small private jet was waiting for them. They arrived at the small airfield on the island at about eight that evening. A crew awaited them in full protective gear and escorted them and the plane's crew into the testing area. The test was unpleasant but relatively quick. They were then all assigned places in the quarantine quarters. Mycroft and Greg shared a flat, as they lived together, and Mrs Hudson was quarantined with Rosie, who was terribly fussy after the painful test. Mycroft ensured that she would have additional help, rather than leaving them entirely to their own devices for two weeks. He couldn't imagine being quarantined for 14 days with a five year old.

Finally, their seemingly endless day ended. After handing off all their things to the facility staff for disinfection, and a shower, both of them dropped into bed, exhausted, by 9:30.

The next day, all of their possessions were delivered to them, newly cleaned and safe. Mycroft began his day with a videoconference with Andrea, who was staying in the next apartment over. Greg went into the little kitchen and stared out the window into the dim, stormy village. The quarantine flats were adjacent to the research facility itself, at the edge of the grounds. He could see the little village in the distance. The windows in some of the cottages were lit as people started their day. 14 days, he thought. In 14 days he could be outside, could see other people face to face again. He could walk and get some exercise. He'd have something meaningful to do.

He put the kettle on. The place had been stocked with things that he and Mycroft liked, though nothing here was too extravagant. It was comfortable enough, but Greg could see it had been built to be easily sterilized once quarantine was done. "What even is my life anymore?" he muttered. Greg put the kettle on and decided to do a full breakfast this morning, just because yesterday had been such a shit day, and he figured today was going to be a lot more of Mycroft shouting at idiots in a much smaller space than usual. There'd not be a lot of quiet for him, even behind a closed door.

Mycroft was still talking with Andrea when Greg came in with tea and food. Mycroft looked up and smiled at him. "Please, Gregory, we're not currently discussing anything classified. Feel free to join us if you wish." Mycroft turned the screen of his laptop so that Greg could see her, and Greg waved.

"Mornin', Andy." He put the tray down. "I'll go get mine. Wasn't sure if I'd be able to join you."

"Good morning, Greg." She smiled at him. He hurried off and returned with his own after only a moment.

"Feels weird to be here," Greg said.

"I'm finding it a relief, honestly," Andrea said. "We won't have to worry about contracting the virus here, and no one will be able to demand face to face meetings with us, or trying to barge into my office. I'll be able to go outside if I want to."

"That happened?" Greg couldn't imagine anyone trying to do that to her.

"More than once," Mycroft said, his voice dark with disapproval. "She did occasionally have to go in to retrieve things. We tried to minimize it, but _some people_ found the idea of not having physical access to us intolerable."

Andrea sighed. "Now I want a full English," she grumbled. 

"Nothing stopping you frying one up for yourself," Greg said.

"It's better when you make it," she pouted. Greg laughed.

"How much progress were you able to make yesterday?" Mycroft asked. "Alicia and Sir Edwin are finally on board with us, after the announcement, at least."

"I was able to begin organizing with a number of scientific groups to present an open letter to the government regarding the situation. Bringing public pressure to bear should help shift both public opinion and the entrenched idiocy of the people proposing this foolishness. If you'll give me a few minutes, I think I want to get myself something resembling an actual breakfast, rather than just the tea and toast I have right now."

Mycroft chuckled. "Go, my dear. This can wait half an hour while you treat yourself properly."

Andrea logged out of the conference and Greg said, "You're in a much better mood today."

"As Andrea said, a fair number of concerns have been taken off my mind with our relocation. I shall obviously continue to worry about my brother and his doctor, and there's nothing at all I can do about our parents and their cruise ship as yet, but everything else…" He sighed. "I feel less constrained here. Less helpless."

"You felt helpless? I thought it was just me, stuck inside with nothing much to do."

Mycroft shook his head. "With all the influence I wield, none of it was of the least use when no one was listening to me. We could have organized an appropriate response. We could have been able to ready the NHS properly, to stockpile necessary supplies, to have policies in place to slow or even halt the spread of the disease within the United Kingdom. Instead, we have this." Mycroft gestured around himself with both hands, indicating the complete disaster they'd been dealt.

"That's a lot to be carrying around, love." He sighed. "My boredom's nothing, really."

"It's not 'nothing,' Gregory. Your frustration is completely understandable. I'm sorry it's been so difficult for you. Once we're out of quarantine here, I guarantee you'll have enough to fill your days."

"What'll you have me doing, anyway?"

"Working with the security office, controlling access to the island, overseeing the arrival of shipments and such. There will be a certain amount of paperwork, as well--"

"God, I'll never escape that, will I?" Greg started eating his breakfast, wanting to get to it before it got cold.

"Sadly, of the making of paperwork, there is no end." Mycroft smiled at him and began eating as well.

March 2020 - Quarantine

Mycroft saw to it that Gregory was put in contact with Mr Kowalczyk, the island's head of security, and provided with all the relevant regulations, as well as the protocols for transportation of goods to the island, and all decontamination procedures. Having an actual purpose and a goal in sight seemed to relieve a great deal of the tension that had built between the two of them since Mycroft had requested their isolation protocols back in February.

Even in the much smaller quarantine apartment, they both spent time separate, as well as together. Mycroft had his meetings and research and, when Gregory wasn't dealing with becoming acquainted with his new responsibilities, he spoke regularly with Mrs Hudson and Rosamund. This had the added advantage of getting news from Sherlock and John, as they still rarely answered Mycroft's calls. They spoke with Mrs Hudson at least once and sometimes several times a day in order to see their daughter. Mrs Hudson's talks with Greg always netted him the current information about the situation at Baker Street.

He stopped by the door of Gregory's room when he heard his name in a conversation with Mrs Hudson. Mycroft hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the better of him.

"I just never really understood what you saw in Mycroft when you first got together with him," Mrs Hudson was saying. Mycroft's eyes closed. He knew all too well that Sherlock and his friends had a long history of distrust of him. Admittedly, some of it was justified. It still managed to hurt. "Lately, though… well, this place isn't something I'd have imagined from him. I mean, something like this existing at all means that he actually cares about people. I never thought he did."

"Of course he does," Greg answered. "Most people have never had a chance to actually see him for who he is. You saw what their sister did to them. You know now what their life was like when they were kids. Is it really a surprise Mycroft turned out the way he did? That he tried to pretend he didn't care about people, when caring about anything meant that it could be destroyed or taken from him?"

"What Sherlock said about her, it was terrible. And she blew up my building! She could have killed all of us."

"I just hope you'll give him a chance when we're out of here, Mrs H. He's a better man than you know."

Mrs Hudson sighed. "Well, he obviously adores you, so that's absolutely something in his favor."

"Yeah." Greg's voice was fond. "I adore him right back, and don't you forget it." Mycroft's heart warmed at that. 

"Uncle Greg! Uncle Greg!" Ah, Rosamund. He didn't really need to hear the prattle of a five year old, so Mycroft moved along with his day. Gregory had so much more patience with children than he did. Having done far too much caretaking for his siblings at much too young an age, he had no great urge to deal overly much with his niece.

His talk with Andrea was fruitful. "Tomorrow, an open letter will be published, signed by two hundred scientists, calling for the government to abandon it's ridiculous herd immunity policy in favor of an approach that would save far more lives."

"With any luck, that will contribute to a substantive change. I'm due to speak to the PM again this afternoon, though I fear nothing of import will come of it."

"The more repeated pressure that's brought to bear, the more likely he is to acquiesce."

Mycroft shook his head. "That would assume we were dealing with someone who had any common sense whatsoever. The utter fool has been running around _shaking hands_ with virus victims. We shan't even mention the situation in the United States. God help them all, the poor bastards."

"We're getting some good cooperation from the University of Washington medical facilities in Seattle," Andrea noted. "I'm sure your daily report from Airmid will include further updates on their progress, and what we've been able to share with them. The news from Italy continues to be appalling, and the situation is still spiralling out of control. They'll need to lock everyone down soon. They should have weeks ago."

"I despair for humanity," Mycroft sighed. 

Andrea shook her head. "Like it or not, Mycroft, we're among them. I've still not discovered a way to opt out of the human race."

"I've been working on it," Mycroft grumbled. "Sadly, to no avail."

Late that evening, Gregory said, "My leave is up next week. Obviously, I'm here now, but I've no idea what I should tell them. I can't go back, not with what's happening here. The Met will probably have me classified as an essential worker and want me to come back as soon as possible."

Mycroft nodded, thinking. "This situation is unlikely to be over until a vaccine is developed. There is no chance of that taking less than a year, and it's more likely to be 18 months, even with every facility on the planet doing research."

"Damn," Greg whispered.

"There are a few possibilities," Mycroft told him. "We could have you transferred to the currently nonexistent police department here, in the village of Ceann Dubh Beag. You could be seconded indefinitely to MI5 for national security reasons pertaining to the pandemic. Or you could request to leave the service."

Greg leaned back into the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, uncertain. "I don't think I want to leave the service entirely, and hiring me to a force that doesn't exist is going to look fishy, at best."

"You believe a secondment would work best."

With a sigh, Greg nodded. "Maybe. Probably. I don't know. I've worked with your lot before, and I know you can get the appropriate paperwork pushed through. It'd probably save me a lot of trouble later, when this is over, if I want to go back to work in Serious Crimes."

"The world is likely to be entirely different a year from now. We can't know for certain what anything will look like. There are too many variables."

"Yeah, but if I ask to leave the service, they'll insist on in person interviews. I'd need to go back to London to turn in my warrant card and deal with all the paperwork for separation. I'm pretty sure they'd pressure me to stay on anyway, under the circumstances. They might refuse the request outright for staffing reasons."

"If you're genuinely considering leaving," Mycroft said, sliding a little closer to Gregory on the sofa, "I'm quite certain we could arrange for everything to be done remotely, and for the appropriate items to be couriered to the Met the same day."

Greg leaned into Mycroft's shoulder. "I need to think about it overnight," he said. "Brought it up because I knew we'd have to figure something out soon. It doesn't mean I'm ready to make a decision right this instant." He shook his head. "I guess I always figured the apocalypse would have more zombies."

Mycroft scoffed about the zombies, but it was fond, gentle scoffing. "It's not the apocalypse," he said. "We're not looking at an extinction event. People are recovering, though the numbers being publicly reported tend to focus on deaths and new infections. Airmid is currently acquiring plasma from survivors to do antibody tests and work on potential vaccines."

"Nothing really seems to make sense anymore, My." Gregory shook his head and Mycroft wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "What do you think is likely to happen? Really?"

"Despite my role as Cassandra in this fiasco, I haven't a crystal ball. I can tell you that things will be very bad, probably for a very long time. There are likely to be several waves of infection, though how bad they will be is going to be determined by the response of governments and local authorities. As I said earlier, I suspect the entire situation will not actually be mitigated until a vaccine exists, and that is effectively impossible for at least a year. The decision you make this week will have a larger impact on the next few months than on the next year and a half, I suspect."

Greg let Mycroft hold him, resting his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "You're not particularly going to advise me to make one decision or another, then?"

"I will say only this, because any decision must ultimately be your own -- if you strongly believe that you will be going back to the Met in a year and a half, it would most likely benefit you to take a secondment to MI5. If you are fairly certain that things will have changed enough that you don't see yourself going back, then taking your leave is likely best."

"Not going to advocate for the nonexistent transfer, then?"

"It was an outlier and was suggested primarily because a transfer would likely be slightly easier to push through quickly than a separation from the force."

"Yeah." Greg nodded. "I could see that."

Mycroft turned to him and kissed him. "My sole priority is having you here, safe, and able to contribute to our efforts."

"Glorified security guard," he muttered.

"Far more than that, honestly. As the situation develops, other needs will become apparent. We could, for instance, use another helicopter pilot, should you be interested in learning. We want to keep the number of outsiders here down to an absolute minimum, so training someone already in residence would be quite helpful. It will, however, take quite a number of practice flight hours even after the coursework."

"What, me? A pilot?" Gregory's brow wrinkled. "Never actually thought about that, but it could be fun, really." His expression lightened and he ventured a smile that slowly turned into a grin. "That actually does sound like fun. Lot of work, I imagine, a lot of things to learn, but… yeah, I could do that." He tilted his head. "The island's not that big, though. Where are you sending the helicopters?"

"To the mainland for supplies, primarily. The pilots never leave the helicopter. The shipments are dealt with by ground crews. Again, we try to keep our people isolated and as safe as possible under the circumstances. It would also be an exceedingly valuable skill regardless of what happens after this is over."

"You're right. It would. Still got to decide what to do about the Met, though."

"Tomorrow," Mycroft murmured. "Sleep on it."

Gregory's secondment was swiftly dealt with, though his superiors at the Metropolitan Police found the whole situation highly irregular. Mycroft's office gave them no details, and they had little choice but to comply. There were moments when Mycroft relished the ability to do such things easily and without interference, particularly when his motives were clearly for the good of the United Kingdom. He'd spent more than enough effort on less ethical projects covering for Sherlock over the years and had done his best not to lose sleep over protecting his brother. Certainly taking care of his lover and benefiting his country at the same time could never be considered a bad thing.

Their time in quarantine passed more quickly than their time at home had, with both of them actually occupied with important work and study. Gregory was pleased and relieved to have something valuable and interesting to do, which mitigated a great deal of the pressure on Mycroft, who had felt guilty over the man's restlessness back in London.

The numbers of infections and deaths globally continued to rise alarmingly, with remarkably little progress toward mitigation from the UK, the US, and Brazil. Italy was an ongoing tragedy, and the numbers in Spain were rising as well; Mycroft was certain the situation there would be just as bad, or worse. He hardly dared contemplate the ultimate numbers globally, or the rank incompetence and corruption of the Americans.

Near the end of March, both the Prime Minister and Prince Charles had tested positive for the virus, both going into seclusion for treatment. Mycroft hoped that this would bring home the seriousness of the situation with the general populace, but feared it would not make a great deal of difference. People tended to ignore or diminish things that didn't directly affect them or their family members. Not that Mycroft was particularly sorrowful about Johnson, but the very idea that he'd ignored every bit of advice Mycroft had given did lend a certain air of schadenfreude when it came right down to it. 

Mycroft spent more time dealing with his research facility now than with his other responsibilities. Given that Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin had finally come on board regarding the magnitude of the situation, and how much his own influence had diminished, he left much of the arm-twisting back in London to them. There were still days that were largely spent in meetings regarding policy, and they continued to be deeply frustrating. He felt the pandemic research took precedence over every other potential issue short of imminent nuclear war.

The afternoon of March 28th brought a re-test for all of them, and the end of their quarantine, none of them the worse for wear. They were then released to their own cottages in the village. Mrs Hudson looked rather stressed, but Mycroft couldn't blame her in the least, having been cooped up with a five year old. Rosamund threw herself at Gregory when they were released, and he spun her around in his arms, both of them elated at being outside for the first time in two weeks, despite the horrid weather.

Mycroft couldn't help but smile at Greg's brilliant, sunny grin. They all walked the two kilometers to the village together in the cold wind, pleased to just be able to do it without walls around them. Greg and Mycroft both held Rosamund's hands, in part to keep her from being blown off her tiny feet. He wasn't generally very attached to children, but she was family, and that was something that Mycroft had always taken extremely seriously. Until his brother and John were reunited with their daughter, she was Mycroft's responsibility. He might not particularly wish to play with her, but he would see to it that she was safe and properly cared for.

"Oh, would you boys care to come to my cottage for tea later?" Mrs Hudson asked. "And you, too, of course, Andrea. It would just be so nice to have company for a while."

"I'd love to, Mrs Hudson," Andrea responded. "I'll need a bit of time to settle my things, but after that it would be delightful to have tea in company."

Gregory answered with enthusiastic agreement as well, and Mycroft couldn't very well refuse at that point. "I'm just happy none of us is sick," Gegory said. "God, it's great to get out for a bit. I'm sick of looking out windows and never being able to go anywhere."

"The island is small, but compared to the inside of a flat, it's quite nearly paradise," Mycroft agreed.

"You said there were other kids here, Uncle Mycroff," Rosamond said.

Mycroft nodded. "You shall no doubt meet some of them tomorrow, my dear."

"Are you going to make some biscuits for tea, Grandma Hudders?"

Mrs Hudson sighed. "Very likely, Rosie. But I'm sure you'll want to play a bit in the yard, won't you?" She looked at Mycroft. "Tell me there's a little fenced-in yard or garden, please."

"We made sure there was a safe, fenced area for Rosamund to play in outside, fear not."

"Oh, thank god."

"It's all right," Gregory said. "I can take her now and then, too, when I'm not working. First thing I'm going to do today, though, is put on the trainers and go for a run." He turned his face out of the wind. "Probably won't make it too far, considering, but it'll be worth the try."

They dropped Mrs Hudson and Rosamund at the little cottage that had been reserved for them, near the center of the tiny village of about three hundred residents. "Come on, Rosie, it's time to go in, dear." She took the child's hand and drew her into the yard, where she waved frantically to Mycroft and Gregory.

Their own cottage was near the edge of the village, with Andrea's next door. "Considering that we'll be spending the rest of the day settling in, having tea, and readjusting to having lives undefined by restricted spaces, there's no need to check in with me unless you get some kind of urgent communication from London," Mycroft told her.

"I'll see you in a couple of hours at Mrs Hudson's, then," she said, unlocking her door and stepping inside with a wave.

Their own cottage was still warming up, the electric, water, and heat having been turned on an hour or so before they'd been released from quarantine. Most of their things had already been put away, but both of them spent a few minutes familiarizing themselves with the layout and where things had been put. "Why don't you grab your trainers and come run with me, My?" Greg asked. "I know you prefer to do it inside, but it would be nice to spend some time with you, just being outdoors for a bit."

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. "I'd have to change clothes."

One strong arm wrapped around Mycroft's waist and his lover kissed the nape of his neck. "Come on. One spin round the village. You can tell me what's what here, and we can have a shower together after, before we go see Mrs Hudson."

Mycroft turned in Greg's arms. "You present a compelling argument." They kissed, holding each other close. 

"I'm betting I can give you an even more compelling reward when we get back," Greg purred.

"Oh, good lord, how did I ever resist you?" He nipped Greg's lower lip and they both giggled like giddy schoolboys. "I swear, I haven't a single shred of dignity where you're concerned."

"Dignity's overrated." He groped Mycroft's bottom. "Come on, let's go for a run. Faster we get back, the faster we can shag like randy goats."

"You've convinced me." Mycroft shook his head, nuzzling Greg's nose. "We should obviously get this out of our systems before we have to face tea with Mrs Hudson and our niece."

"Just a heads up, there's probably going to be a call to your brother and John while we're there."

"Of course," Mycroft grumbled, not entirely displeased.

A few minutes later, they were out in the wind, chilly and running the perimeter of the tiny village. "There's a small school," Mycroft said, pointing to the whitewashed building. "Really more childcare and the first couple of years. Older children tend to stay with relatives or do distance learning. A cafe and restaurant is over there, which rather doubles as a community center for social events. The grocery shop is next door. We get a weekly shipment in. There's a small greenhouse on the other side of the school building that provides some fresh salad greens and other veg throughout the year; it can sometimes be hard to come by, particularly in winter. A few of the people living here have taken to keeping chickens and goats, and they share some of the eggs and milk with the others. It's a fairly cooperative lot, really."

"Look at you, laird of your own island."

Mycroft snorted. "Not what I'd initially envisioned when I set up the research facility," he admitted. "The staff is happier with their families nearby and the village amenities, though. It's worked out better than I expected."

By the time they got round the entire village, both were a bit out of breath. Their sedentary two weeks of quarantine had taken a toll. Mycroft's face was freezing by the time they got in, though Gregory seemed slightly less worse for wear. Their shower warmed them through, as much because they ravished one another as because of the hot water.

Finally, warm, dry, and quite sated, they dressed and went to Mrs Hudson's for tea.

April 2020

Greg sighed as he pushed his chair back from the desk. Learning the piloting stuff was a lot of work, but he'd got an unexpected boost from Andrea, who turned out to have a helicopter licence herself. It was good to have someone to ask about things who wasn't his instructor, because sometimes he just wanted to kick ideas around until he understood something, rather than listen to a lecture.

He turned as Mycroft entered their cottage. "How was the conference call?" he asked, rising and stretching. His back was a bit stiff because he'd been sitting for too long without a break.

Mycroft smiled and wrapped him in a hug. "We've arranged to send two different potential vaccines to testing sites in the UK and the US for preliminary studies today. It's a long way from a certainty, of course, but each trial will bring us closer to something usable."

"Good to know things are progressing. It never feels like enough."

"At this point, I do prefer to take small advances as they appear. They may dead end, but it gives me some reason to hope when there's been so little of late." 

"True enough. Oh, we've got Rosie for dinner tonight. Mrs H needs a break and she's off to play poker with her friends. She cleaned me out the other night to the tune of twenty pounds."

"She is a rather astute player," Mycroft agreed. "I'd not challenge her."

Greg sighed and kissed him, then took his coat. "Yeah, well, you're smarter than me, anyway." He hung Mycroft's coat on its hook.

"You have many other admirable traits and talents, my dear. Raw intelligence isn't everything."

Greg laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, you can get away with saying that, being the smart one and all. Rosie insists that Bee wants fish and chips from the cafe tonight. Hope you're all right with that. We're supposed to get a call from John and Sherlock about that time, so we can have dinner with them if you want to set up the video for it. Probably do all three of 'em some good. Poor kid's been missing her dads. I'll go fetch dinner from the cafe when it's time."

"If you would. I suspect I'll survive the ordeal, despite the inevitable mess of dining with a child of that age. I do wish they'd come and join us here. I fear for John, working at the hospital under these conditions."

"Sherlock's sworn up and down if either of them start showing symptoms, they'll call and be up here as soon as your lot can pick them up. Neither of them's keen on putting more of a burden on the NHS right now if they don't have to."

"Still."

"I know, love." Greg kissed Mycroft gently. He took Mycroft's hand and tugged. "Let's go have a bit of a lie-down before little miss sunshine gets here, yeah?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Surely you're not suggesting a nap."

Greg laughed. "Nope. I'm suggesting a shag."

Mycroft's tiny smile broadened into a grin. "An excellent idea, my dear."

"See? Sometimes I'm the smart one."

Mycroft laughed with him.


End file.
